


i should write something

by alsahm



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen, Japanese-American Character, M/M, Writing Classes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-04-27 09:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14422692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alsahm/pseuds/alsahm
Summary: Storytelling is just glorified lying, when you think about it.The Uni AU where Ren's fake friends convince him to take Creative Writing 101; the prof is hot; his (not-)ex thinks about sex; words are power; and unfortunately, as you probably already know, Ren's libido.





	1. masque

**Author's Note:**

> i'm maybe 40% done writing this but i realized yesterday it's not a one shot and woke up today with half my body inflamed so up we go! tags to be updated with additional chapters.
> 
> ren is wrapped in like 7 layers of irony of course

Take Creative Writing, Haru said.

Take it with _me_ , Ann said.

It's a GPA booster, Haru insisted. And stress relieving!

"I don't fucking know how to read," Ren remembers, five minutes after add/drop.

"That's not true," Ann says now, pulling at his cheek. She's wearing his old glasses, which is distracting mostly because she's disgusting and now the frames are oily with her fingerprints (his life regrets, other than impulse-taking this class, include the karma which tossed myopia his way at seventeen at the same frequency as Ann's matching weakness). "You read, like, the entire library in high school."

Ren doesn't know how to explain that the physical act of perusing sentences so that he didn't have to talk to his family is not the same as _reading_ , especially to someone for whom the bulk of words come from Final Fantasy and sports manga.

A groan will suffice. He thunks his head on the desk to accentuate the point; deliberate uselessness is never criticized by Ann.

" _Ren_ ," she whines, "it's literally a 101. All you hafta do to pass is show up."

“And _write_ things.”

"They're stories! That's basically just lying. You do that all the time!"

Wow, okay, wait. Ren draws himself up enough to stare at her in requisite disgust. "Do not."

Ann's is less a laugh and more a screech, ricocheting back at her when she notices his disbelief. "Oh, my god, wait,” she says, frowning, “you're serious? Have you met yourself?"

Ren has to believe he has a good handle on himself. Or, at least, a good handle on his image: to adults, the calm, polite, piano-playing Japanese boy you'd love for your daughter to bring home (until you see his GPA); to everyone else, cool, cocky, and just confident enough to be charming, with bonus bisexuality amped up or down depending on context (the mantra: "Mishima awake, completely straight; Yusuke's pout, dick: out"). His boring bag and clothes and hair, his demeanor, even the register of his voice are all orchestrated to minute detail because they give him a modicum of control.

For all the jokes about his aesthetic, others are only meant to think about Ren what he allows. It's not a _lie._

Or… he squints at his reflection in Ann's nasty frames. Maybe he's just that good?

"Our section hits the writing req, you know," Ann says now, poking his shoulder. Either it's rougher than she intended, or she thought he was zoning out—which is valid, because he was. He's been scrolling through the comments below Kawakami's chilli pepper for the past minute.

Seems doable.

"And!" Ann adds, pouncing at the change in his temperament, "I think we get to criticize people, except this time we get a grade for it and they're not allowed to bite back. You love that."

He _does_ enjoy being petty without consequence.

Ann knows him too well, maybe.

" _Fine_ ," he says, and heaves himself out of the chair, stretching out more than necessary. "But only for you."

She rolls her eyes, swings her bag over one shoulder, and offers her arm. "Liar."

Not wrong.

* * *

Also not wrong: the good people of RateMyProf. When Ren lands in the chair next to Ann's in the basement workshop and swivels to face the professor, he can really only push up the glasses he's not wearing and nod: young-ish, brunette, would probably step on him without being asked. Chilli pepper indeed.

Kawakami gets right down to business, tallying absences and confirming pronunciations. Then, among a couple other last minute registrees, Ren is asked to introduce himself: Name, year, major, fun fact. Why creative writing?

Ren can't stop butt-rotating his chair, not even when it's his turn. His left leg keeps hitting Ann's right and it's comforting, kind of. "Hey," he says, holding one hand up in greeting. "I'm Ren Amamiya. Yes, I've been brokenhearted."

Ann snorts. Everyone else just stares at him, which makes the joke and mentioning his surname both kind of flat, but that's fine. If it weren't for Ann, he wouldn't've done it at all.

He clears his throat and continues, "I'm a sophomore. Haven't declared a major. Fun fact: I completed the Big Bang Burger challenge in high school. I'm here 'cause my friend told me it was a good class." He points at Ann, then, and smiles two watts shy of _please take care of me_. "That's all."

Kawakami asks, "What do you write?"

"Words, mostly," tumbles out before he can filter himself. When the prof's brow shoots up, Ren bangs his leg into Ann's hard enough for her to yelp. "I mean… Uh…"

"H-He's... working on a memoir!" _Wow_. Ann is a _liar_.

"That," Ren agrees, left hand twisting into his hair. "Yeah." _He_ is a _liar_.

But Kawakami nods and moves on. Ren kicks Ann again for good measure and texts:

> **ren:** wtf is a memoir

She sends him back a screenshot of her latest Google search.

> **ren:** stop making me read things holy shit

* * *

Haru says memoirs are her _favorite_. She can't explain what they are _exactly_ but maybe it's best described as an autobiography, only a little more novelized and a lot more nostalgic? Oh, but they're so _interesting_ —

"So you write about yourself but you're sort of allowed to make shit up," Futaba translates from her barstool, head rested in one hand, the other scrolling down a Wikipedia article. She slugged in with her DS and a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos exactly two minutes after Ren's shift started, and had been regaling him and Ann with a play-by-play of last night's raid when Haru arrived, politely ordered her favorite brew, and accosted her "favorite sophomores" for every minor detail of their respective school weeks.

Now Haru sets her cup on its saucer, mouth open in a delicate rich person _o_. "Make it up… ?"

Ren isn't supposed to go near his cat during his shift, but he decides scooping Morgana into Haru's lap, from where haunted pats are automatically dispensed, can be classified as customer service.

Ann takes it better. She says through a mouthful of whipped cream, "Ohh, really? I just heard this other guy mention it the first day and it sounded kinda impressive." Then she wipes at her mouth with a sleeve and squishes into Futaba's face for a better look at the screen, nodding with a violence that suggests disproportionately massive sleep debt for this early in the semester. "Wait, Ren, I think that'd be pretty cool from you, though."

“I’d read it,” Futaba agrees, laying her phone to rest face down. He can hear her legs in constant motion, feet thudding lightly against the booth, echoing the velocity of her brain; her sinister grin has made an appearance. "And then Haru can post a review and all her followers would read it, too, and Ann could run a giveaway and you'd be all the rage among teenage influencers and make it _big_."

To this Haru nods idly and makes Morgana do so, too.

"As much as I'd love to be all the rage among teenage influencers," Ren says, retrieving Ann's and Haru's now-empty cups, "pass." And in what he hopes does not betray his mood, he retreats to the sink, where he can safely brood about how doing the dishes is beyond preferable to staring at a Google Doc and shitting out 1,000 words on _something dear to you_.

He can't write. Not that he is bad at it but that he physically can't. Ink gives thoughts breath and blood, makes them live and crawl and walk away from his grasp or maybe around his neck to choke him.

And others reading him!

No, no, not that again.

A tug at his leg. Morgana, having escaped Haru, demanding Ren-brand cuddles and warmth.

Ren crouches to scratch behind the kitty ears. "Hey, crimelord, you can't be back here."

Morgana knows this but has mastered his defense: "Mrrrrrt."

"Damn," Ren murmurs, hanging up his apron, "can't argue with that."

He bounces round the bar to regroup with his friends.

In his absence a hush of studying overtook them. Ren knows he was out of it because Yusuke somehow arrived unnoticed; he's already spread the farthest booth with several of his colored notebooks and sketch pads—one of which Futaba, nestled next to him, is paging through with fervor—and an enormous art catalogue which he is currently glaring into submission.

Ann, too, relocated to a booth, obscured by her laptop but hard at work. Haru is in the same stool from earlier, poised as always like one of his sister's stupid-expensive dolls, one hand to her chin and the other holding a paperback of which Ren has never heard the title.

In greeting Ren brews Yusuke's usual and slides it down to him. His roommate only grunts his acknowledgement, but Futaba jumps, bites her lip, and points at her phone, all wide eyes and apologetic brows. When Ren makes the most amusingly quizzical expression he can muster, she only shakes her head and points more emphatically.

So in the backroom, on Ren's phone:

> **futaba:** ren idk what it was but i'm really sorry
> 
> **futaba:** please please please don't be upset
> 
> **futaba:** you know!! that npc would lick the floor if it was made of things you said

His laugh rends the balloon in his chest. Shit, he loves his friends.

> **ren:** i'm not upset! promise
> 
> **ren:** thanks
> 
> **ren:** ♥

Still smiling he snatches his bag, climbs into the stool one down from Haru's, and pulls out the journal Ann presented him for Kawakami's class. Morgana leaps into his lap, soft and warm and content.

Ren stares at the first page, fingers drumming on the counter.

In his best friend's red, sparkly ink, Ren's cramped print says:

_Write about something dear to you._

So he does.


	2. death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) sorry  
> 2) SORRY  
> 3) thank you to my internet imouto for upgrading ren's writing :o)

Wait wait wait wait wait wait _wait._

> **ren: ** i thought add/drop was over.  
>  **ren: ** @ann did you lie to me.  
>  **ren: ** are you a lying liar who lies.  
>  **ann: ** what are you TALKING ABOUT  
>  **ren: ** why is my ex here  
>  **ann: ** WHAT EX  
>  **ann: **????????  
>  **yusuke: ** You two do know that you can text each other individually?  
>  **ren: ** where's the drama in that  
>  **ann: ** yeah  
>  **ryuji: ** ex???  
>  **ren: ** pleasant boy. he was here when we came in  
>  **ann: **????  
>  **ren: ** he's literally STARING AT ME ANN  
>  **ann: ** no one is staring at you ren you are literally SO vain

Enough. Ren grabs Ann's wrist and twists her toward Goro as soon as he's stopped looking. 

" _Ow_?" Ann yoinks it back before bothering to squint in the signaled direction, and then has the nerve to make _such_ a face at Ren, as though she has neither seen nor heard of Goro Akechi ever in her entire life. As if he never told her. As if that semester she didn't skip Japanese 102 to sneak into Ren's lecture for a good look at the TA with whom Ren had decidedly fallen in love! As if she can't feel the _tension_.

> **ann: ** i guess he's cute?

Unbelievable. 

Ren shoves at her. 

She shoves back.

Goro twitches to attention, frowning. As their eyes meet Ren blinks at him, arms halfway to attacking Ann again.

Goro _is_ cute. He is still _infuriatingly_ cute, light hair falling into place as softly as Ren remembers, eyes just as dark if dull. He must have had a presentation in another class or an interview with the president of the university or something because he's in a dress shirt and a tie, and busies himself in loosening it when their look persists two seconds too long. 

It was just over a year ago that Goro failed Ren in phone number and wouldn't give him his Philo but smiled all through the remainder of their sessions like the fucking shoujo ideal he knew he was, and somehow it's only made him more attractive.

> **makoto: ** Is this the guy that Ren got up before noon for last year?  
>  **ren: ** damn him

Kawakami arrives. She applauds them all for finally managing to be present and on time for the fourth day of their course. The bulk of this workshop, she reminds them, will be prompt and critique driven: they will be provided a prompt; they will write to it for homework and when indicated print multiple copies; and then they will sit with their pie-holes shut as their peers read and workshop it the following class; culminating in a revised portfolio for their final mark.

Of course, there will also be the occasional simpler assignments, as with the one due today. "Which you can now pass ten to your left."

Ren counts to ten and immediately decides he needs to go to the bathroom and then never come back ever, but Ann his best friend his worst enemy a liar and a _traitor_ holds him down and neatly shuffles his paper along.

She could have at least had the decency to switch their spots, but it probably wouldn't have mattered. Somehow he'd end up with Goro—tilting his head at the sheet that lands before him, hand purposefully obscuring his mouth—anyway. 

Not staring is a task. 

A story irrelevant to his interests is recited. Ren opens to a random page in his notebook and is halfway through constructing an argument on his inobligation to obey the laws of the state when he remembers he's meant to offer criticism. He manages to scrape by on conversational dexterity; nodding and rephrasing others, it seems, is a valid workshopping tactic, and it means he can focus on a doodle of cuddling cats instead of really listening.

Then:

"This piece is titled 'Morgana,'" Goro's voice is still a honey and ginger balm, his smile tight-lipped and frustrating. He continues, "Although it appears our writer is anonymous."

Wait, what. 

Ren clicks at his pen, trying to remember if he ever typed his name. Logically it's not a big deal if he didn't, because of course this story is his, because people makes mistakes, because Kawakami gives only a bored, "We put our names on our assignments in college," and nods in Goro's direction to go on. Because class progresses as if nothing happened. 

But something _did_. And Ren hates himself, and Goro's mouth moves around his words.

"'I have a cat named Morgana,'" Goro starts, and he has the cadence of a speechmaker, each word commanding attention. Coupled with Ren's words it sounds like a parody, of which Ren isn't sure whether his writing or Goro's register is the joke:

He's black except for his white ears and tail, and he's got blue eyes. He has a yellow collar because it looks cool. My sister Yuri said Mona's a girl's name and I told her gender is a construct, because it is, also we already wrote it on the papers. Then Hinata said, "Why don't we call him Morgan?" and I said "Why don't we call you Hilda" and he shut up.

Here Goro pauses to address loose hair that fell into his eyes. Ren takes the opportunity to shade his cats, and now focused elsewhere he manages to tune in and out of the rest of his story. The thing is that Goro reads so _slow_ ; it didn't take Ren anywhere near this long to look it over when he was on the hunt for glaring typos.

Finally, he finishes: 

My mom got Mona for me because my therapist said it would make me more responsible. I was like, "Didn't think I wasn't responsible but go off."

I love my cat Morgana, who is a boy.

Goro shuffles the papers back in order.

This is why he _doesn't write_ ; it resounds and rings and stays.

Nothing to do about it. Ren smiles, mouthing his thank you.

Goro says, "What was your name again?"

Ren, extremely ready to withdraw from this class and worry about the W later, mimes the writer's box around him: he's not allowed to speak.

Goro's "Of course," is audibly pleasant and visibly unsatisfied. Nevertheless they proceed to concrit, for which Goro will be last, and Ren will pretend that doodling looks anything like taking notes on his peers' comments.

"I thought it was an interesting take on the Arthurian mythos," someone who has neither read _Sindbad_ nor knows what the assignment was says. "I especially liked the dichotomy created by a black male cat called Morgana being the center of attention."

"I liked it," says someone else. "Your cat sounds cute."

"I was a little lost," says the girl to the left of Ann. "I don't really understand the purpose of the piece."

Ann meanwhile is an angel on Earth: "The _purpose_ was to follow the prompt." 

And Goro?

"This followed the prompt precisely but did nothing particularly interesting with it: you were quite straightforward in describing your cat, if I am correct in assuming this is an autobiographical piece. Albeit the writing itself was refreshingly blunt for fiction, and I look forward to you employing this style with more pieces as the semester progresses. I recall you having some trouble reaching the page count in your essays last year. I assure you, you have improved.

"That said," and he shifts, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed with authority, "I really would like to know your name."

"We're running short on time, Goro, so you'll kindly flirt after class," Kawakami cuts in. "I'll provide my comments in writing going forward. Let's continue."

And they do, Goro nodding his apology. More stories are read; more commentary is given; more cats are added to the page, including a tiny one with a suit and sweet smile and the word "albeit," and then it is Ann's turn to read.

She flips over her story and gasps, nudging Ren, hard where he's already bruising from earlier shoves. He blinks over at her paper and chokes as she starts:

YOU LOOK DEATH IN THE EYE AND HE STARES BACK AT YOU. He is black hair and dark lips over coffee, and when he calls himself Ren you know him; you are blessed in the waters of rebirth; you are lost. Lost lost lost to years before naissance, and maybe when with him that too is an untruth. Each of your breaths no longer is an instance of life but a piece of your dichotomy; once twice three times you die, again and again and again only to return return return cyclically into his wretched arms.

Ann stops suddenly, eyes wide and head shaking, too sleep deprived to not look manic. Over her shoulder Ren has reached the end and glances at the author, who is projecting autobiographically his desire to be dead dead dead: tight-lipped, Goro is tapping at his notebook with a pen like he's working on his thesis in pointillism, except there is only one sharp, gel-penned point.

Kawakami prods, "Go on."

To the end:

Then one day by accident by purpose you tell him that you love him, and as coolly as he came, in flames he disappears.

Ren is first for concrit.

"Well," he says, as coolly as he can, "that was sexy."

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what you think so far!  
> you can [rt](https://twitter.com/lumenize/status/988822550720499712) on twitter, too ♥


End file.
